


Home

by Luthien



Series: Author's Favourites [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day can be a long time in a relationship - if it's the right day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Monanotlisa, for help_haiti.
> 
> Huge thanks to Kai, Nym and Telanu for letting me bounce this off them as I went along, and more huge thanks to Kai for giving the whole thing a thorough beta.

There's an unfamiliar vehicle parked on the patch of dirt at the end of the driveway when John arrives back at the house. He frowns at it as he gets out of his car and grabs the bags of groceries off the back seat. They aren't expecting visitors – they never expect visitors – and he can't think of anyone he wants to see who'd be likely to drive something like this slightly sporty but very sensible silver Volvo.

But then he glances up the front steps and sees who's waiting at the door and discovers that he does know someone who drives a car like that. Someone he likes and respects. Even so, he's still not certain that he wants to see her.

Colonel Carter stands there, blonde hair all gold around the edges as it catches the late afternoon sun, her hand clutching at her skirt to stop it being whipped around by the strong wind. The way she's dressed is as much a surprise as the make of her car: a mix of denim and florals that add up to a softer, girlier look than anything he saw from her in the year she spent in Atlantis with them. Carter smiles as John reaches the top of the stairs, mostly professionally polite but there's a little personal warmth in there, too. Standing there, smiling that particular smile, she's much like she always has been in their dealings. If you ignore the clothes, that is. And the car.

She drives a Volvo. A _Volvo_. But then again, she's never been one for unnecessary risks, and a Volvo's certainly the car to drive if your main priority is avoiding those. And to be fair, to his knowledge she's never shied away from a single thing that she deemed to be a necessary risk.

John wonders if he and Rodney are something that falls into that particular category. But: "Colonel Carter. Didn't expect to see you in these parts," is what he says to her by way of greeting, his accompanying smile the equal of hers in warmth.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced like this. Something came up."

She really does sound a little apologetic, but John lets it go unacknowledged and says instead: "Rodney didn't answer the door."

He doesn't bother to pretend it's a question, but she answers as though it is. "No. I wasn't sure if anyone was home."

"Oh, he's home," John assures her as he sets down the shopping bags so he can slide his key into the lock. "Come on in," he adds, and ushers her inside.

The hallway is dim and deserted, and the rest of the house seems much the same. John leads the way to the kitchen, aware that Carter must be looking around – not blatantly, maybe, but still doing it – and taking everything in, assessing this place where he and Rodney live together. Assessing, and maybe not judging, but wondering, for sure. John doesn't really blame her. In her place, he'd be wondering, too.

Carter flashes him another slightly strained smile when they reach the kitchen. The sun's streaming in through the windows on this side of the house, and the yellow paint on the walls makes the room seem even brighter and warmer. There's no sign of Rodney here, either. Well, he's not here right now, that is, but there's plenty of evidence that he's been here, and fairly recently. John moves a couple of piles of dirty dishes from the counter top to the sink so there's room for the grocery bags.

John instigated the house-cleaning rota soon after he and Rodney moved in together. They take turns with the household chores, week by week. In the months since then, John's become used to ignoring the steadily growing piles of dishes and dirty laundry and general _stuff_ around the house during Rodney's weeks. He's become used to Rodney leaving all the cleaning until the tail end of Saturday. Then there'll be a sudden explosion – not a literal one, so far, though with Rodney you can never totally discount that sort of thing – of wet clothes in the basement laundry room, a mountain of clean crockery springing up next to the kitchen sink, and a cloud of dust left in his wake as he vacuums and polishes and scrubs his way through the rest of the house.

Unfortunately, today is Friday.

John leans back against the edge of the sink. Carter is standing on the other side of the kitchen table, eyeing the vast array of used pots and pans that cover every inch of the table top. She looks up suddenly, looks John straight in the eye. He returns the look. With interest.

"So was it just Rodney you wanted to see?" he enquires, his voice as hard as his gaze. "Or does this thing that's 'come up' involve both of us?" She isn't here just to see him, John's sure of that much. They wouldn't have sent her if Rodney wasn't involved in it somehow.

"I'm here to speak to both of you. Unofficially." She almost-smiles again.

"Yeah, I kind of got that part," John says, with a speaking look at her clothes. He lets the look soften into a wry, lopsided little grin. "Just give me a moment, and then I'll go find Rodney," he adds as he turns away and starts digging through the shopping bags for the perishable items and putting them in the refrigerator.

"You're looking well," she says.

"I'm good," he says, grabbing a carton of milk out of a bag, and more than glad to have a reason not to look at her face right then. He _is_ good – a world away from the condition he was in the last time she saw him, lying in a hospital bed.

The lull in the conversation that follows is still just this side of awkward when Carter speaks again. "So, how are you liking it, living up here in the woods?" she asks, taking the hint. "There's no other house for miles along this road."

John pauses in the act of attempting to squeeze five different sorts of cheese into the dairy compartment; no way can Rodney complain about not getting the right kind _this_ time. "It's… different," he says. "Lots of trees."

And no water in any direction for as far as the eye can see. Not that the eye can see too far thanks to all the trees – mostly Douglas-firs – blocking the view.

"And not many people," Carter says. "Apart from McKay."

It's not a question. Not quite. So John doesn't treat it like one. "I'll put on some coffee," he says, and only then realises he probably should have offered her some, and somewhere to sit down, as soon as she came in through the door. He's out of practice with the whole hospitality thing. They don't get too many visitors out here. In fact, Carter's their first visitor in more than a month and only their fourth ever who's stopped long enough for coffee. And considering that the other three were the Miller family, well... They don't get too many visitors out here.

Carter comes over to the counter as John closes the fridge and grabs coffee from the cupboard. She watches without comment as John scrubs and rinses a couple of the many coffee mugs lurking by the sink, pours water into Rodney's oversize, overpriced Italian espresso machine, positions the coffee mugs below and hits a couple of buttons on the front.

"So. McKay," she says as he moves away from the coffee machine.

"Yeah. I'll get him," John says.

He waves her into the living room - she'll just have to fend for herself in there for a moment - and continues on along the main hallway. He pulls open the door to the basement and yells down the stairs: "Rodney?"

"Busy, remember? Go away!" Rodney shouts back from the depths of his private domain.

"You need to come up!"

"No, I don't. I need to keep working on this, which will be so much easier when you GO AWAY!"

"We've got a visitor!"

"Then tell them to go away too and stop interrupting my incredibly important work."

"Rodney-"

"Busy!"

"I'm making coffee!" John yells as a final shot, and slams the door shut before beating a hasty retreat back to the living room.

He finds Carter perched awkwardly on one end of the couch, which she's sharing with a pile of scientific periodicals, a box of tissues, a sad-looking afghan, a couple of empty beer bottles and one of Rodney's shirts. A pair of shoes and accompanying dirty socks are on the floor beside her. John can just about smell them from the doorway.

"Told you he was here," John says, tossing a half-eaten bag of Doritos and the chess board out of the way so that he can flop down in his favourite armchair. "He's in the basement," he adds, in case Carter somehow missed that bit.

"I… heard," Carter says. "Perhaps it would be easier if I went down to talk to him."

"You won't have to. He'll be up here any moment."

"But-"

"Wait," John says, checking his watch so he can count down the remaining seconds.

Right on cue the door to the basement bangs open and Rodney can be heard stomping through the house.

"Sheppard? You can't get away from me that easily. I told you not to touch that coffee-maker! You don't know what you're-"

He stops in the doorway.

"- doing," he finishes in a much quieter voice. "Sam?"

"Hello, Rodney," Carter says.

Rodney stares at her, just stands and stares. John feels an irrational pang of jealousy: he's the only one who's supposed to be able to shut Rodney up.

Rodney turns on his heel and leaves the room. Just like that. A moment later there's the sound of a door slamming shut at the other end of the hallway.

"Well," says Carter after a moment. She bites her lip.

That sums things up pretty well as far as John's concerned, too. But it's his house and even though his hosting skills are rusty, he's can't deny that a host has obligations. And a… friend, or whatever exactly he is to Rodney these days, has obligations as well.

"I'll talk to him," he promises, and goes after Rodney. As he races along the hallway, he spares a fleeting thought for Carter, marooned once again among the detritus in the living room. But hell, she can cope. After all her years in the military, all the places she's seen and people she's met, she must have encountered worse. Probably. Maybe.

John sighs, and pulls open the basement door and looks down: Rodney's sitting on the bottom step. Even in this dim light John recognises the rigid set of his shoulders.

"Rodney?" John says quietly.

There's no response, except that Rodney's shoulders maybe get even more tense. He's huddled in on himself. 'Like a coiled spring,' John has just enough time to think before Rodney springs to his feet. By the time John gets to the bottom of the steps, Rodney's pacing in impatient circles, gripped with nervous energy that doesn't have anywhere else to go.

John grabs Rodney's sleeve as he passes, forcing him to stop. Rodney whirls around to face John, shrugging out of his grip, but at least he doesn't try to move away.

"I didn't know what to say," Rodney bursts out. "I literally just…" He holds out his hands.

"Sorry about springing her on you like that," John says, and makes a face. "She surprised me at the door when I got back. I thought maybe her turning up here would be easier if you didn't have time to think about it first."

"Think about it?" Rodney says, and then again, louder: "Think about it? Do you know how much time I've spent doing nothing but think about it? How many days and weeks and months I've spent going over every scenario I could think of that would have had her- them running to me for help at the first sign of trouble?"

"No, I didn't know," John says, and it's only half a lie. There's that jealous pang again. Not quite as irrational this time, either.

"I just… I can't believe it's taken them this long. If she'd turned up six months ago – even three – I would have had an entire speech prepared and ready to go. But it's been a year, more than that, and now…" Rodney holds out his hands again, open and empty.

"I can tell her to go. I think she would, if she was asked," John says. And, he adds silently, if it's something really that important she'll be back, or someone else will be.

"No, I… What does she want, anyway?" Rodney asks, voice turning sharp with curiosity.

"She hasn't said anything yet. She wants to talk to both of us."

"What could she possibly want with you?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence there, buddy," John says dryly.

"There's no need to take it personally. It's a simple fact. There are at least a dozen reasons why they'd need my services desperately, and a dozen more slightly less likely contingencies on top of that that I can think of without even trying. Whereas you… well. We both know that there are things you've seen and done that put you in a category all of your own, that you truly are a unique and special snowflake and so on and so forth, and personally there's no one I'd rather trust my own safety to."

"Gee, thanks, Rodney." John rolls his eyes, but it's mostly to divert attention from the grin that's not quite happening below.

"But on paper it looks like there's very little that you did on a regular basis that couldn't be done by other SGC personnel with similar talents and experience."

"Yeah, I can only think of one thing, really," John agrees. "Or category of things."

Rodney stares at him. "You don't think that they… They couldn't! After all the assurances that went nowhere. And after all these months? They couldn't!" He pauses, and then adds far less certainly, "Could they?"

John shrugs. "Only one way to find out."

Rodney doesn't say anything to that. John smiles just a little. He's still got it. He steps forward, into Rodney's space, and kisses him gently. After a moment, Rodney kisses him back. And one kiss becomes two. Becomes three.

Rodney's breath is harsh and hot against John's neck when they break apart. John swallows hard. They shouldn't be doing this. Not if they want to be fit for polite company when they go back upstairs. He forces himself to let go and take a step back.

"So, you gonna come up and be sociable?" he says, nodding toward the stairs.

Rodney sighs. "I suppose so," he says, brushing down his shirt and pants in a vain attempt at making himself look less rumpled and more presentable. He straightens up and fixes John with a hard stare. "But just so we're clear: I'll be the one making the coffee."

John follows Rodney upstairs. Carter is over by the window when they arrive back in the living room, looking out at the trees. The wind has picked up, tossing branches this way and that and sending the occasional large stick clattering against the side of the house. It's suddenly gotten much darker out in the few minutes they've been downstairs. Storm clouds are gathering, and fast.

"So you finally realised that you couldn't cope without me," Rodney says.

"Yes, it's good to see you too, McKay. I'm fine, thanks for asking," Carter says, smiling sweetly.

"Why don't we all sit down and have some coffee," John suggests, which earns him a dagger look from Rodney.

"No. First I think we'd better talk about why you're here," Rodney says to Carter.

"Officially? I happened to be in the area and thought I'd drop by to see some old… friends," Carter says.

Rodney dismisses that with a wave of one hand. "And the real reason?" he demands.

"The _unofficial_ reason. Well, there's more than one." Carter turns to John. "I could really do with that coffee," she adds hopefully.

She wants to talk to Rodney alone. It's probably a good idea. John stays right where he is.

"The bottom line first. Then I'll go make the coffee," Rodney says implacably.

"The bottom line?" says Carter. "That would be… Atlantis."

If she was expecting an enthusiastic reaction, or even just a shocked one, she must be disappointed. Her words fall flat.

"Atlantis what?" Rodney says. "They're finally going to take her out of mothballs? Maybe install a science team there again to undertake some uncontroversial and carefully vetted experiments under the watchful eye of the IOA? Perhaps even tow her out of the Southern Ocean to somewhere a little warmer, or at least to the other side of some sort of land mass to block those winds coming straight up from Antarctica?"

"No," Carter says.

"Then what?" John asks. And he knows, in his heart he knows, but he can't let himself think the word, just in case he's got it wrong. He's not even sure he wants to hear it.

"Pegasus."

"And you're telling us this because…?" says John. He needs it spelled out before he lets his mind go anywhere with the implications. And even more importantly, he needs it spelled out before Rodney's mind – or mouth – goes anywhere with the implications.

"They want you to come back. They want you both to come back."

"So, what?" John says carefully. "They want McKay to get the city ready to go, me to fly everybody to Pegasus, carry out a mission or whatever, and then fly her back again?"

Carter shakes her head. "No. I can't go into the details right now, but keeping Atlantis on Earth has become problematic."

It has to be the Russians. And the Chinese. And maybe a few of the US's closer allies, too. They'd all wanted a piece of her. All, in their different ways, had wanted a measure of direct control that they'd previously been willing to cede to the IOA when Atlantis was tucked away in another galaxy and the practical implications for Earth were all but academic. There'd been no clear majority agreement between the IOA member countries about any single proposal put forward for Atlantis's future use on Earth. That's how she'd wound up three-quarters of the way to Antarctica, not being used for anything at all and manned by the barest of skeleton crews.

"So this is what, an unofficial job offer?" Rodney says.

"Not exactly."

"But if we were to make it clear that an offer would be favourably received…" John says.

"One would be likely to be forthcoming, yes." Carter beams at him like a proud teacher with her star student.

John tries not to squirm.

"How long do we have to make a decision?" Rodney asks, the look he turns on John just as sharp as his tone.

"I can give you tonight to think about it and I'll come back again in the morning to hear your decision," Carter says. "If you decide to accept, then we can go… somewhere else to discuss things in more detail.

"Oh, I don't believe this," says Rodney. "One night? One single night?"

"Rodney," John says.

"Oh, come on. While they were arguing and dithering and continuing not to make a decision for all those months they didn't even notice that the ice they'd left us on had melted and we'd walked away. But now they want us to drop everything and come back, just like that?"

"Rodney, I'm sorry. If it were up to me…" Carter smiles unhappily, and really does sound like she means it.

Rodney draws such a deep breath that he actually looks inflated. He opens his mouth to respond and-

"I think it's time for that coffee," John says hastily, and drags Rodney out of the room before he has a chance to say another word. "Will you just calm down," he hisses as soon as the kitchen door is safely closed behind them.

"Calm down yourself!" Rodney replies indignantly.

"I'm calm!"

"There's nothing about this situation that's remotely calming, including you!"

They glare at each other for a moment, until John finally lets the corner of his mouth twitch into a tiny, sheepish smile. "I just don't think we should lay all our cards on the table yet, that's all. We need to take as much time as they'll give us-

"One night! Can you believe that?"

"We need to take as much time as they'll give us and work out exactly how we want to approach this," John says evenly. "But for now we should have some coffee and talk to Colonel Carter and get as much information out of her as we can."

"Which I bet won't be much," Rodney says gloomily. "She seems awfully unwilling to go into details, don't you think? She can hardly believe we pose some sort of security threat. I mean, we're us!"

"Not us personally, no," John says slowly. "But this house isn't exactly a secure facility. People could be watching - maybe not even the government's people. And they could be listening."

"No, they couldn't. Do you really think I haven't set up precautions to automatically block anything like that the instant it attempts to transmit?"

John smiles at him fondly. He can't help it, looking at Rodney standing there, arms folded, resolute against all comers who dare to question his technical expertise. "But that still doesn't stop people from watching, and keeping an eye on who comes and goes. I think she's right to be cautious about how much detail she goes into."

"Save me from the workings of the military mind!" Rodney huffs, throwing up his hands in exasperation."

"Almost twenty years in the air force here, remember?" John says, letting the smile on his face turn into a smirk.

"Yeah, I remember," Rodney says, letting his eyes linger on John's air force style t-shirt. It had come as a surprise, the first time they unexpectedly and inevitably ended up with their hands all over each other, to find out just how much Rodney liked the way John looked in those ubiquitous black t-shirts.

John flushes, and looks away. His eyes light on the coffee machine. The mugs are still sitting there, right where he left them. "At least the coffee's already half made," he observes innocently.

Rodney looks horrified and rushes over to remove the offending mugs and pour their contents down the sink. John leaves him fussing over the coffee machine, and wanders back to the living room.

Carter's standing over by the window again. It's started raining now, and there's thunder rolling in the distance. But Carter's not looking out at the weather. She's examining the curtain, the bottom of which is shorn off at a diagonal just above the window sill.

"Coffee's on the way," John says.

Carter whirls round. "It's an unusual curtain design," she says, pushing her hair back from her face, though it doesn't need it. She looks almost as guilty as if she'd been caught digging through the drawers of their nightstands.

"I suppose it is a little eye-catching," John agrees, letting her off the hook gently. "I was testing a miniature laser device that Rodney was working on a while back. It turned out to be a little more powerful than I was expecting."

Carter looks amused. "Rodney didn't warn you first?"

John grins. "Rodney didn't know. Well, not until after it took out the bottom of the curtain and really not that big a chunk of the wall. If you look a little closer you can make out the bit that's been repaired and repainted." John points to a spot just to the right of the window.

"You haven't replaced the curtain."

"No," John says, not sure what she's getting at. The curtain still does its job of covering the window when it needs to be covered so there doesn't seem much point in going to the trouble of replacing it.

Carter seems about to say something more, but then she apparently thinks better of it. She shakes her head. "Never mind," she says.

John clears some space on the couch and invites Carter to take a seat. Once they're both settled, he says, "So, this offer that may or may not be forthcoming… What else can you tell me about it?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. The job is basically the same one that you were doing before."

"You said something about there being more than one reason for the offer."

"You could say that," Carter says, clearly choosing her words carefully. "There's the main job offer, and then there are some specific things we need you to look into when you go back."

"If," John corrects her. " _If_ we go back."

"If," Carter agrees. "And when, too, I hope."

"And of course you can't go into the details of these specific things."

"No, but I think you can probably guess the sorts of things that we need you to check up on."

"More of the same," John says.

"More or less," Carter replies. "By the way, your friends asked to pass on their greetings to you last time we talked to them."

"Ronon and Teyla? You've had contact with them since they went back?" John leans forward in his chair. "They're doing okay?"

"They were fine when we spoke, along with all of your other friends. Your friend Todd is particularly eager to talk with you. In person."

And there's her ace. John was wondering when she'd show her hand, and how strong it would be when she did. Pretty damned strong, it turns out.

"That's… interesting," John says slowly. "Last I heard he was still on… in this country."

"Some things have changed while you've been away," Carter says.

"I can see that. Was Todd planning to hang around for a while? I'd hate to go all that way and then miss seeing him."

"He indicated that he'd make contact again once he received word that you were back."

"That sounds like him," John says. Whatever Todd wants, it's not urgent, or at least no more urgent than anything else that Todd's had his hand in. Otherwise they wouldn't have waited for Carter to wander up here on a supposed day off before passing on Todd's 'message'. But it still makes John itch to get back, so much that he can barely stop himself from telling Carter they're ready to go right now. Of course, that's exactly the reaction that certain people must be banking on. "So, there's nothing else in particular you need me to do, personally, apart from catching up with old friends?" he asks, biting down on all the other words hovering on the tip of his tongue.

"Just that for now."

"But there's something else you need Rodney to do," John guesses.

"Why don't we wait until Rodney comes back?" Carter suggests.

John shrugs. "Okay with me."

And then they fall silent. They don't really know how to have a conversation with each other, John realises. They've never had a problem talking before, but before there was always work. Just talking, like friends do, on the other hand: that they haven't tried.

"You're, uh, looking well," John says, and cringes inwardly as soon as the words escape his lips.

"Thank you," Carter says. Her face flushes a delicate pink and she looks down at her hands for a moment, self-conscious – almost as if she's embarrassed.

John has no idea how he's caused that sort of reaction. He's racking his brains desperately for something safe to say when Rodney finally returns, balancing three steaming mugs on a large toxic-green plastic tray.

"I remembered the way you take your coffee," Rodney tells Carter as he hands out the mugs.

Carter's eyebrows rise up at that little revelation.

"Not that I make a habit of that sort of thing," Rodney adds hastily. "The fact is, and this is the reason that I remembered how you like yours, I usually make a habit of not making coffee for other people – or I used to before Sheppard here nearly blew up my new De' Longhi – "

"Hey! I did not almost blow it up!"

"It was making fizzing and crackling sounds!"

"No, it was making coffee."

"It never would have made it as far as coffee if I hadn't intervened. It would have exploded first!"

"Um, guys?" Carter interjects. "Maybe if we could get back to what we were talking about before?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," John says.

Rodney echoes the apology, and then continues, "So, what were we talking about, in particular, while I was out of the room? Anything specific you want to tell us? Or maybe ask us?" he asks Carter pointedly.

John doesn't know where to look. It's obvious that the significance of his phrasing hasn't occurred to Rodney – and equally obvious that it's occurred forcibly to Carter. It's only a few months since the policy was officially abolished and the regs were changed. Her eyes widen for a moment, but then she decides that it's just an unfortunate choice of words. Either that, or she's not as surprised at the idea as John would expect her to be.

"I've already told you about the main reason why I'm here, but there were one or two other things," Carter says.

"I knew it!" Rodney says triumphantly. "You need me to fix something for you, don't you? No doubt you've unwisely jury rigged something big and dangerous – not quite as big as another sun, I hope? – in your usual piecemeal fashion and now you need me to come along to dig you out of the mess you've made before it blows up in your face and takes out half a planet along with it."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," Carter says, the calm demeanour she's displayed so far finally breaking into something a lot more like annoyance. "And why do you assume _I'm_ the one who needs your input?"

"Just going off past experience," Rodney replies, and now he sounds smug.

"As it happens, McKay, I haven't had a whole lot of time for that side of things lately. I've been busy elsewhere."

"Really?" Rodney says. "Oh yes, you got your own ship. I suppose that means you're not really a scientist at all any more, doesn't it?"

"I'm an employed scientist," Carter points out.

Rodney ignores the barb and continues on almost as though Carter hasn't spoken. "But I see you don't deny that my input _is_ needed. Hmmn, so, if not you then wh- Zelenka! It's Zelenka, isn't it?"

"Come back with me tomorrow and find out for yourself," Carter says sweetly, and sips her coffee.

"So you're staying somewhere nearby?" John asks, deciding that it's high time he entered the conversation again.

"I've got a room at the Orchard Inn down on the main road just outside town," Carter says.

Rodney frowns, no doubt about to voice his opinion about the wisdom or lack thereof of staying there, but before anyone can say another word there's a mighty clap of thunder right overhead, as sharp and loud as a gigantic whip crack. The whole house shudders, or seems to, followed by the shriek of a car alarm going off outside.

Carter gets up quickly. "That's mine. I'll be back in a moment."

"No need to go out in the rain. Give me your keys. I'll go switch it off," John offers.

Carter shakes her head. "Actually, this might be a good place to leave things for today. I'd like to get to the inn before it starts getting dark."

"At least wait until the rain's eased a little," John says. As if on cue, there's another rumble of thunder, a little farther away this time, and the rain starts really pelting down. John can hear it pounding on the porch's tin roof.

"It looks like my mind's been made up for me," Carter says wryly, but it's not clear whether she's referring to John or to the weather. She tosses the keys to him. "It's the black button," she tells him.

John nods, and goes out to the porch. As it turns out, the black button isn't the right one. Neither is the red button. In the end, he has to go out into the rain and put the key in the ignition while pressing both buttons at the same time before the alarm finally shuts off.

When he comes back inside, shaking the rain from his hair, he's relieved to find that war hasn't broken out in the living room in his absence. In fact, Rodney and Carter are sitting with coffee mugs in hand and talking earnestly at each other across the coffee table, but nobody's shouting or gesturing, so John definitely chalks it up as a win. The conversation comes to an abrupt halt as soon as they notice him standing in the doorway.

"All set," John tells Carter, setting the keys down on the scuff-legged side table by her elbow.

"Thanks," Carter says.

Rodney gets up. "I'm just about to show Sam my lab space downstairs. Want to come?"

"Nah, I'd just get in the way," John says, privately vowing to check on them if they haven't reappeared in ten minutes.

"That's never stopped you before," Rodney points out.

"Just go," John says.

The house feels weirdly quiet once the basement door has closed behind Rodney and Carter. All that's left is the sound of the rain. Sighing, John makes his way to the kitchen and starts on the washing up. It's as good a way as any to keep his hands busy while his mind works overtime. He jams what he can into the dishwasher. Then he unearths the drying rack from the depths of the cupboard, clears a space for it next to the sink, and gets to work.

Of course he's going back. There was never any real question about it, despite what he told Carter. It isn't about "if" at all, or even about "when". It's really all about "how". Specifically, how they're going to play things when they get back to Atlantis.

The problem is that he isn't exactly the same guy who spent five years in another galaxy exploring, making friends – and enemies – and protecting his people and his city. He's not the same guy who resigned from the air force after his city was effectively taken away from him while he lay in a hospital bed, either. (He's not sure that Rodney's forgiven him, even now, for half killing himself on a ski slope back on Earth after surviving so many life and death situations in Pegasus relatively unscathed. Or for taking himself out of the picture for months, so that the powers that be got the idea that they could manage just fine without him.) He's not even the same guy who didn't want to face the prospect of leading a second-rate team through a stargate that wasn't his own on missions that were hardly deserving of the name.

These days, he's just a guy who lives in the mountains with another guy. There isn't much more to it than that. What with recovering from his injuries and one thing and another, and Rodney seemingly happy to hole up here indefinitely, he hadn't gotten around to working out exactly what he wanted to do next. But maybe that should have been a clue that some part of him was putting the rest of his life on hold and waiting for the call. Just like Rodney's been waiting, too, apparently.

Somehow, during the wait, they've built a life, of sorts, without even meaning to. They've fallen into a way of doing things, a way of being, that's as easy as it was unplanned. No promises have been given, or asked for. It's convenient. Maybe too convenient.

He hears their voices in the hallway again before he has to go look for them. He comes out to find Carter gathering up her things and preparing to leave. Outside, the worst of the storm has moved on. The wind's still fierce, but the rain is mostly just a light patter on the roof, punctuated by the occasional spatter of larger drops from the nearby trees.

John follows Rodney and Carter down the hallway and out onto the porch.

"Watch out for the bends in the road on the way down," John advises. "They can come out of nowhere when the fog descends like this."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," Carter says. She pauses at the top of the front steps. "Please, think carefully about everything I've said. You're needed. Both of you." She looks from Rodney to John and back to Rodney again.

"We will," Rodney says.

"Yeah, we will," John promises.

"See you tomorrow, then," Carter says, and then she's hurrying down to her car. They watch from the porch as she drives away into the gloom, until the car's taillights disappear as it rounds the bend at the end of the driveway.

Rodney turns and goes back into the house without a word. John follows after a moment, just in time to see Rodney's legs disappearing up the stairs. John thinks about following him, but it's easier to go back to the kitchen and continue with the washing up and everything that goes with it.

John has to go back. He needs to go back. Maybe not for ever, but he has to go back to check that everything – and everyone – is okay. This chance that Carter's holding out to them is the only offer they're ever going to get, for sure. They have to take it. But things are going to have to change to make it happen. He isn't sure that Rodney will want to understand that, even though he's going to get back everything that he's been hanging out for since the moment they walked away from Atlantis. Maybe even since the moment they splashed down outside San Francisco.

All this time, Rodney's been waiting impatiently for the Stargate program, for Carter, to need him, while pretending – yeah, that's the right word – _pretending_ that he was okay sitting tight right here since Atlantis was no longer an option. The projects to tinker with in his lab downstairs, a private contract every now and then to provide a fresh challenge, John to… be with: it wasn't enough, and John should have known that it wouldn't be enough.

John sets a mug carefully atop the pile of clean dishes beside the sink, and surveys the results of his handiwork. He's managed to clear a space at one end of the kitchen counter, about a sixth of the entire thing. John strips off his rubber gloves and tosses them into the cupboard beneath the sink. It's Rodney's week for doing the housework, after all. He grabs two beers from the refrigerator, and goes upstairs.

He finds Rodney exactly where he expected him to be, sitting on the bed. He's got the iPad in hand instead of the larger tablet or the laptop. Damn. John was vaguely hoping that Rodney would suddenly be too busy to talk right now, but he's always made it very clear that he regards the iPad as a toy and not a tool.

Wordlessly, John hands Rodney a beer, and sits down on the other side of the bed. He props himself up against the pillows, cracks open the bottle and takes a sip.

"Well, that was interesting," he says.

"That's one word for it," Rodney says, leaning back against the bed head and letting the iPad slide through his fingers and down into his lap. He looks across the pillows at John. John looks back. And then, in silent accord, they both lean back against the headboard and raise their beers to their lips in unison.

John looks down at the bottle in his hand, up at the ceiling, back down to the bottle, and clears his throat. "So, about what we're going to do when we go back," he begins.

"When?" Rodney says, sitting up straight, and turning to look at John properly. "I thought we were still at 'if'."

"Why would we still be at if? There's nothing much keeping us here, and there's everything to go back for."

"Everything?"

"All the important stuff. Ronon and Teyla, defending the Pegasus galaxy from the Wraith, all the stuff that the Ancients left behind that's still waiting to be uncovered and investigated. Or am I imagining that you were the one who said you'd been thinking about nothing else all these months?"

"I didn't say I'd been thinking about _nothing_ else. Not all the time, and anyway, I was talking about being asked back by Stargate Command, not specifically about being asked to go back to Atlantis. Plus, I definitely didn't say that all the important stuff is there."

"You didn't," John says flatly, sceptically, taking another sip from his beer so that he doesn't have to add anything else to that sentence.

"No, I didn't." Rodney sighs, and flops back against the pillows. "Lately I… I've been thinking over what's most important to me," he says quickly, sounding like he's trying to get the words out before he has a chance to reconsider saying them.

"And you're trying to tell me that Atlantis suddenly isn't important? Because that I won't believe."

"Of course not," Rodney says. "Once, and not so many years ago, it would have been everything. My work would have been everything. I wouldn't have had to waste a second's thought on the question."

"And now…," John says.

"Now there's other stuff," Rodney says. "My sister and… and so on."

"Yeah, can't forget so on," John agrees.

Rodney rolls his eyes heavenward and grits his teeth. "Isn't there anything that would make you decide to stay on Earth instead of going back?"

John considers that for, oh, a good half-second. "No," he says.

Rodney looks at him in a way that reminds John of Carter. Just like his conversation with her about the curtain downstairs, he feels like he's missing something really, really obvious right now.

"Glad we got that cleared up," Rodney says after a long moment. He sets his beer down on the nightstand. "You know, I'm really not convinced that the basement is completely waterproof. I'd better go check that water from the storm hasn't started seeping in."

John grips Rodney by the shoulder, stopping him from getting up. "Did Carter make you another offer?" he says, his voice hard.

"Another… Of course not!" Rodney tries to shrug off John's hand. After a second hard shrug, John reluctantly loosens his grip. Rodney twists around to look at him. "What makes you ask that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the way you didn't mention wanting to stay on Earth until after you went down to the basement so she could have a private talk with you."

Rodney hesitates a fraction too long before saying, "That's ridiculous."

"Maybe so, but you haven't given me any specific reason not to think that," John says.

Rodney looks away.

John turns his attention back to his beer. He's on his third sip when Rodney says, "Sam might have said some things. Things that made me think – but not about any other sort of job."

John waits for more, beer in hand.

"There might be a… mission, sort of, to somewhere… somewhere else. But it shouldn't interfere with going back to Atlantis," Rodney admits.

"A mission," John says.

"Just a little one," Rodney assures him. "I'll get it over and done with in no time. In fact, you could say that I won't really be away at all."

"And that's it? Nothing else?"

"Yes, there were some other things we talked about, as a matter of fact."

"Some other things," John repeats. "What sorts of things, exactly?" His fingers clench tighter around the beer bottle, and his nails dig into the damp label.

"Just… things that are important to her, things that are important to me."

"Really."

"Yes, really. We didn't even go into any great detail. Talking to her just made me think. About a whole lot of stuff. I've been doing that for a while now, not just today, as a matter of fact. Jeannie started it when she was here last month, so you can blame her if you want." He looks down at the iPad and sighs. "I've just been sitting here trying to rate what's important to me and see if I can make some sense out of it all."

John's not going to ask. He's not. But somehow, instead of keeping his mouth firmly closed, a familiar response kicks in. It's the same instinct that's set him on more than one suicide run in the past, risking everything because something way more important than just his own future was at stake. It's a risk that's paid off, too, by virtue of the fact that he's still here to do it again right now. "What sorts of things are important to you?" he asks.

"Well, Jeannie, like I said before," Rodney replies. "And Atlantis, of course, and my work – that goes without saying. And, well, you."

"Me," John says, and decides this calls for another swig of beer. He drains the bottle and sets it down on the night stand. "So how'd I rate?" he asks, figuring his housekeeping skills alone must be worth a good eighty per cent.

"Fifty-one," Rodney says in a low voice.

"Fifty-one?" That can't be right. "Fifty-one out of a hundred?"

"Fifty-one out of… well, everything," Rodney says, and hands him the iPad.

There's a short list showing on the screen: __

_• Work (and furthering of career in general) – 19-20% (fluctuates)_  
• Atlantis (can be combined with work and career for most – but not all – purposes) – 19-20% (fluctuates)  
• Jeannie and other family stuff – 9-10% (fluctuates)  
• John – 51%

John looks up slowly. "Rodney, what…"

"Like I said, you're fifty-one per cent of everything. You're the deciding factor."

Rodney gets up off the bed, and this time John doesn't try to stop him. He stands there, looking gravely down at John. Rodney's eyes always seem that much more startlingly blue when he's intent on something. John feels like a ZPM that hasn't yet been tested to find out if it's fully charged, or dead. As John continues not to say anything, Rodney straightens up, shoulders back and chin pushed out in the pugnacious stance that John's all too familiar with: unsure what the outcome's going to be but determined to fight his hardest to achieve the result he wants. So much for nobody making any promises. Rodney's declaration of intent is graceless and awkward, but so blunt that John can't be left in any doubt. And it's all the more touching for that.

"Rodney," John says. He's still not sure what to say, or how to say it if he could make sense of what's inside him. He puts the iPad carefully out of the way beside the empty beer bottle, then gets to his feet and comes round the side of the bed until he's standing face to face with Rodney. He reaches out one hand, but Rodney's own hand comes up, grabbing John by the wrist and stopping him a hair's breadth away from cupping Rodney's face.

"Tell me," Rodney says. "If I were to ask that question again, the one about there being anything that might make you decide to stay on Earth, what would your answer be now?"

"There could be something," John says. Rodney's fingers dig a little deeper into John's skin, but his grip's not really tight. They both know that John could shake Rodney's hold in an instant if he wanted to. Neither of them moves. Everything hangs in the balance – or at least fifty-one per cent of it. John clears his throat. "There _is_ something. Just one little thing." Rodney shifts slightly, but his eyes are still fixed on John's. "But you don't really want to stay on Earth, do you?" John says, with more confidence than he's actually feeling.

Rodney relaxes so suddenly and completely that John can feel it like a wave of energy washing through his body. He drops John's hand. "Of course not!" he says.

"Good," John replies. And then it's easy. Easy to take Rodney's face in his hands, easy to be drawn close in turn, and easy to kiss like it's the very first time all over again. It's careful and gentle, and then suddenly it isn't. Rodney makes a desperate noise deep in his throat and then his hands are on John's hips, steering him back toward the bed. One of Rodney's legs is between John's, pressing up hard against John's dick with every step they take. John groans and then his hands are on Rodney's shoulders, practically dragging him forward, and still they're kissing and kissing. The backs of John's legs finally, finally hit the side of the mattress and he lets himself fall slowly backwards onto the bed, pulling Rodney down with him. Rodney lands half on top John, his face buried against John's neck. He sucks hard against the skin, forcing a ragged breath from John, and then John's tugging at Rodney's shoulder, pulling him right across so he's lying completely on top of John, and John's arching up into the weight and strength of him as he finds Rodney's lips again.

They're both panting hard when Rodney finally props himself up on his elbows and looks down into John's eyes. His face is flushed, his hair's in disarray and he's more than a little wild-eyed. It's a surprisingly good look on him. A very good look. Then he smiles and it all gets ten times better.

"God, you look so…" Rodney says, and presses a fervent kiss against John's jaw, and then another, and another, working his way along to John's temple kiss by kiss as if he can't stop himself.

John runs his hands restlessly along Rodney's back, feeling fabric beneath his fingers where he wants and needs to feel skin. He tugs at Rodney's collar a couple of times until Rodney eventually murmurs, "What?" just a teensy bit crossly against John's ear.

"Too many clothes," John says, trying to wriggle out from under Rodney. Rodney takes the hint and rolls over. John rolls as well, bringing his arms around Rodney from behind, fumbling for the buttons for a moment and then giving up so he can slide his hands up and under Rodney's shirt, seeking and finding skin, tracing a path down and down until his fingers latch on to Rodney's belt.

"Okay, okay, I get the picture," Rodney says, for all the world as though John's just jumped him with no warning. He sits up and gets to work on his belt buckle, while beside him John's busy stripping off his t-shirt.

They both lose patience before they manage to lose all of their clothes. Rodney grabs John by the shoulders and they sink back onto the bed in a long kiss amid a tangle of limbs, socks, shirt sleeves and – a moment later – popping shirt buttons. It's almost as frantic as the first time all over again. John pushes Rodney's shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, sending the final button flying on to the floor somewhere as at last Rodney wrestles the shirt off. And then they're skin to skin – finally – and in an instant the entire universe contracts. There's nothing left but Rodney all hot and urgent against him, broad shoulders pushing him down into the mattress until John's bucking up to meet him. John has to kiss and suck and not quite bite at that perfect spot at the base of Rodney's throat so that he can hear Rodney's breath catch, hear the tiny betraying whimper that follows, feel the tremor that runs through him and then gasp in turn as Rodney's hand slides over his hip and closes around his cock. Oh god, it _is_ as frantic as the first time but it's better too, so much better, because this time they know each other, know just how to take things when they're both desperate for it, which places to kiss and suck, to touch and stroke, until they're gasping and shuddering in each other's arms.

Rodney tugs him slowly, teasingly, a couple of times, until John's arching into his hand, wanting more, needing more, and helpless to stop the noise that sounds deep in his throat. But Rodney's already moving on, stroking softly down John's inner thigh, so softly John can hardly stand it, making him gasp with the promise of it. Rodney makes his way up again, fingertips even softer against John's balls, sliding back, sliding further, sliding-

"Where's the lube?" Rodney whispers harshly.

John lets out a long breath and turns his head to look across at the nightstand, empty apart from Rodney's abandoned beer. "Downstairs. Still in the shopping bag." It's too far, and far, far too late to worry about it now.

"What about the other?"

"I don't remember." John moves his head impatiently against the covers. "Rodney just… Now. Please."

John's voice cracks a bit on the last word, and that's all it takes. Rodney rolls onto his side, taking John with him, and then his hand is suddenly in front of John's face and his voice is rasping in John's ear: "Lick." John obliges, once, twice, three times and the hand is gone again. A second later, the hard, hot length of Rodney's cock is pushing against John's, and then Rodney's wrapped his hands around them both and is jacking them hard and fast to completion, all the while muttering desperate curses in John's ear. The tension coils deep in John's belly, coils and breaks, and then he's there, he's flying right off the edge and Rodney's there beside him, just like he always is, and John loves him like he's never loved anyone else, and never will.

Afterwards, they lie there bonelessly for a while. John opens an eye lazily to look at Rodney, because it seems that he can't not look at Rodney, and finds Rodney looking back at him. They share a smile, because apparently they're incapable of not doing that, too, but at least they're content to be silent for now. After a bit, Rodney rouses himself enough to grab his discarded shirt and wipe them both off before settling down on his back. John curls along Rodney's side, because it beats getting up and doing, well, anything. He's just settling in for a nice, long doze when Rodney abruptly sits up.

"Did you call me a little thing?" he asks.

"What?" John says, opening his eyes.

"Before, when we were talking about staying on Earth – or not," he adds when John starts to frown.

"I don't-" John begins.

"I think your exact words were that there might be "one little thing"?"

"Jesus, Rodney. It's just a figure of speech," John says, rolling his eyes.

"That's all?" Rodney says. "And it's in no way a reflection on the size of… anything to do with me?"

"No," John says, and waits a beat or two while Rodney relaxes beside him again. "I wouldn't say that."

"That's g- What?" Rodney sits up again.

"Well, you know what they say, Rodney."

"Maybe. What do they say?" Rodney asks, eyeing John warily.

"They say, from little things big things grow," John replies with a smirk, taking Rodney's dick in his hand and giving it a friendly squeeze.

"Oh, very funny. You just couldn't resist that one, could you?" Rodney says, sounding a little more annoyed than John was really aiming for.

Before he can think better of it, John catches Rodney's hand, and presses a kiss into the palm. He looks up into Rodney's startled eyes, trying to find the right words. The moment lengthens, and John still hasn't said anything when the silence is broken by the sound of a loud reverberation from somewhere downstairs.

John looks over toward the door. "Did you put on a load of washing before? I thought the plumber did something to stop the water hammer."

"No, surprisingly enough I didn't stop to throw a load of your underwear in the washing machine while I was showing Samantha Carter around my work area," Rodney retorts, but his words lack heat. He's looking at John like he's never seen him completely clearly before, and now he's unexpectedly been given the last piece of the puzzle and is trying to work out how to fit it into place. "And yes, the plumber did do something about the water hammer." He frowns. "That sound isn't coming from the pipes."

"Then what…?" John slips off the bed, and goes over to the window. There's no sign of any car outside apart from their own, but there's the knocking again, definitely coming from the general direction of the porch. And yeah, someone's calling out now. "There's someone at the door," he says.

"Who is it?" Rodney says.

"I can't see. There's no car," John replies, and starts pulling on his jeans and t-shirt. They don't get too many visitors out here; two in one day even less so. He pauses in the doorway on his way out of the room. "Rodney?" he says quickly.

"Yes, what?" Rodney says, sitting up straight and radiating 'ready for action'.

"Hold that last thought," John says, and then he's out the door.

He pads down the stairs barefoot, stopping to grab one of his spare bantos rods from the umbrella stand in the hallway just in case, and moves as quietly as possible toward the front door.

"Hello! Is anyone there?" The voice is a lot easier to make out down here, and John blinks in surprised recognition. He also puts the bantos rod back where he got it, and goes to open the door.

"Well, hello," he says. "We didn't expect to see you again this soon."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I encountered a little problem on my way down the hill. Can I come in?" Sam Carter stands on the doorstep, a far cry from the way she looked when John last saw her waiting there. Her hair's so wet that long tendrils are plastered against the sides of her face and she's carrying a small backpack, which is slowly dripping water onto the porch. At some point since she left the house she's changed into jeans and hiking boots, which are caked with mud. Not to put too fine a point on it, she looks completely bedraggled

"Of course," John says hastily, and stands back to let her in through the door. "A problem? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Carter replies, wiping her feet well on the door mat before she steps over the threshold. "My car, on the other hand, is not in terribly great shape."

"What happened?" John asks in concern.

"Those sudden corners you warned me about? They're even more of a problem when a huge tree's come down right across the road," Carter says with a wry grin.

"You should have called us," John says.

"I would have called, but the phone reception up here is-"

"Poor verging on non-existent," John finishes for her. "Sorry. I tend to forget how bad it is. Rodney's… done something to our phones."

"Of course he has," Carter says, just as Rodney appears at the top of the stairs. He's changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and his feet are bare: John's relieved to see that he remembered to take off the remaining sock.

"Sam!" Rodney says, hurrying down to join them. "What were you doing out there without your car? I know how you military types get obsessed with working out, but you shouldn't be going walking in this sort of weather."

"I didn't plan it that way," Carter says.

"Seriously, are you okay? You look terrible."

"Thanks, Rodney. I know I can always rely on you," Carter says wearily.

"Come and sit down and I'll get you a towel," John says, leading the way to the living room. "How far down the road is your car?"

"Three or four klicks," Carter replies. "It's going to have to be towed. And someone's going to have to do something about the tree."

"Do you think the three of us could move it out of the way?" John asks. "Or just you and me?" he adds with a sidelong glance at Rodney.

"I doubt it. Even if you had a big enough chainsaw" - she raises her eyebrows in a half question and John shakes his head – " I think you'd need several more people and a heavy duty vehicle to get the job done."

"On it," John assures her, grabbing his phone from the coffee table as behind him Rodney immediately starts asking about the car and the tree. "I'll be right back," he adds and leaves Carter to the task of getting Rodney up to speed with what's going on.

He calls Bryce at the sheriff's office on the way up the stairs, and gets promised hazard lights asap. Unfortunately, there's storm damage in other parts of the county and the equipment needed for cutting up the tree and getting it off the road is already on its way elsewhere.

" _Sorry, John. Clearing main roads and assisting the owners of houses with major damage have to be the priority right now. We won't be able to take care of your tree until morning sometime, but I can get you a tow truck in the next hour or so if that helps at all._ "

"Not while my friend's car is still on this side of the tree," John replies.

" _Yeah, that's about what I thought,_ " Bryce says with a tired chuckle. " _Anyway, I'd better get back to it._ "

"How much damage is there?" John asks. "Do you need any help?"

" _Nah,_ " says Bryce. " _It's all under control. And it's not like you could get here anytime soon on your own two feet,_ " he points out before saying goodbye.

John stares down at the phone for a moment after the call ends, and then he goes to get that towel for Carter so that he doesn't feel entirely useless.

Back in the living room, Rodney is fussing over Carter, insisting that she let him check her arms for cuts and worrying about concussion at a volume that John can hear from the top of the stairs.

"Rodney, really, it's all right. I've already checked. I didn't hit my head!" Carter protests, but she must be feeling at least a little knocked around because by the time John enters the room she's sitting on the couch with Rodney bending down in front of her to check her pupils.

John hides a smile, but he's not quite fast enough and Carter sends him a speaking look the moment Rodney turns away.

"Any luck with the car?" she asks, a little more eagerly than the subject probably deserves.

"Sorry," John says, biting his lip. "They can't get anyone out to clear the road until morning, which means…"

Carter closes her eyes and nods in resignation.

John hands her the towel. "Do you need to go back to the car for anything?"

"No," Carter says as she starts towelling her hair dry. "It should be okay until morning, and I've brought everything I need." She nods at the small pack sitting at her feet.

"I wish we could get you to a doctor," Rodney says, still frowning worriedly. "Just to rule out the possibility of internal injuries. Fractured ribs are just the start."

"I'd know if I'd fractured any ribs, believe me," Carter tells him.

"Or you could have ruptured something. Do you have any idea what a ruptured spleen, for instance-"

"Yes, and in intimate and painful detail," Carter interrupts. And then she adds more gently: "Rodney, I'm okay. Really. I jammed on the brakes and the car swerved. The impact could have been a lot worse, but it wasn't." She smiles at him reassuringly. "There's one thing you can do for me, though. Would you mind if I took a shower? I really need to get out of these clothes and clean up."

"Yeah. Right. Of course," Rodney says immediately, eyes widening in a way that makes John think it's only just occurred to him that Sam Carter is not only going to be spending the night under their roof, she's also going to be naked and wet under their roof.

"The bathroom's first on the left at the top of the stairs, and the spare room's right next to it," John tells Carter quickly, before she has a chance to think about the look on Rodney's face.

John himself is remarkably okay with that look. It's mostly mild shock that he can read in Rodney's eyes, and not the glazed expression he once would have expected. Besides, John might be Mister Fifty-One Per cent, but Carter didn't even make the list.

John organises more fresh towels, and makes up the spare room while Carter's in the bathroom. They only have a spare room - or even a spare bed - thanks to Jeannie's recent visit. Before that, the room had been used by Rodney as extra storage space, somewhere to house the overflow of objects that mysteriously emerge from the basement from time to time. The bed's already made up, so preparing the room for human habitation mostly involves clearing out the bits and pieces of gadgets and god knows what that have already started accumulating there in significant numbers since Jeannie left.

John can hear the shower still running after he finishes up in the spare room, so he leaves Carter to it and goes downstairs again. He finds Rodney in the kitchen, surveying the contents of the refrigerator.

"I'm just trying to decide what we should have for dinner," Rodney says. "So far, we're missing at least one essential ingredient out of every recipe I've thought of. I could have devised the perfect menu if it had occurred to you to buy anything interesting. A couple of lobsters, say, or a pheasant or even some quail. And we don't have any persimmons or figs, either."

"How could I have overlooked those," John says, leaning back against the doorway. "Or, hey, I know, a suckling pig. I could've dug a pit – and then watched it fill up with rain water."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rodney tells him, sending him a withering look. "So anyway, that leaves us with… well, very little. I've got no idea what we're going to cook for dinner."

"That's easy. _I'll_ do some steaks. There should be a few potatoes in the bottom of the cupboard. And I bought some beans."

Rodney looks at him. "You want to serve Samantha Carter meat and potatoes," he says in disbelieving tones.

"Why not? I serve you meat and potatoes at least three times a week," John points out.

"Yes, but-" Rodney begins unhappily.

"Rodney, she's a soldier. She's been eating meat and potatoes in mess halls for years. She _likes_ meat and potatoes."

"Oh, all right," Rodney concedes with bad grace, frowning at John. But as John continues to watch Rodney watch him, the frown lifts and changes into… something else. Something speculative.

"So, Sam's still in the bathroom?" Rodney asks.

"Yes," John says, just a trifle warily. It's not that he's jealous any more. He's really not. But this is Sam Carter naked and wet under their roof that they're talking about here, after all.

Rodney shuts the refrigerator. "Good," he says, and before John's brain has time to move on from food and Sam Carter and naked, Rodney's across the room, one hand pushing John's hip back hard against the doorframe while the other is gentle and careful on John's neck, positioning him just so. And then Rodney's kissing him, lips moving hard and demanding against his own, seeking hands sliding down John's body and then up and under his t-shirt, like he's been starved of the feel of John for weeks or months instead of getting out of bed with him barely twenty minutes ago.

"What was that?" John gasps, blinking when Rodney draws back.

"You told me to hold that last thought just before you went downstairs," Rodney reminds him, fingers stroking gently along the line of John's neck in a way that makes John want to close his eyes and just lean into it. And maybe purr. "That was me, holding the thought."

John doesn't remember Rodney's grin ever being this evil before. Maybe he's been taking lessons. John grins back. "That wasn't bad, but I don't think it was exactly what I had in mind."

"Yeah?" Rodney says. His lips are suddenly just a breath away from John's.

"Yeah. Let me show you," John says, and closes the distance between them. He takes it slower, pulling back teasingly 'til their lips are barely touching, then nipping gently at Rodney's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, gasping as Rodney bites gently at his lip in turn and then they're matching each other kiss for kiss, until they're all but devouring each other. Rodney's hands are in John's hair, clutching and stroking in a slow rhythm. John's hands have slipped down under Rodney's waistband, and John's leaning into him, squeezing his ass point and counterpoint with each kiss, until they're rocking together and Rodney's making little broken noises into John's mouth and something's going to have to give, and soon.

Rodney pulls back, which wasn't really at all what John had in mind. He's flushed and heavy-eyed and his lips are kiss-swollen, and if they were alone in the house John would already be dragging him back upstairs, age and refractory period be damned.

But Rodney's expression is serious, if also a little dazed. "You probably don't want me to ask this. Actually, I _know_ you don't want me to, because otherwise you would have already said something about it, but I'm going to ask, anyway, because how does anybody ever find anything out if they don't ask questions?"

That particular question appears to be rhetorical – at least, John hopes so – so he doesn't try to answer it. Instead, he braces himself for whatever's coming next and motions for Rodney to continue.

Rodney takes a deep breath, expels it slowly, and says: "I just wanted to know what you were going to say."

"What I was going to say?" John says, frowning.

"Upstairs. Right before Sam came back. When you told me to hold that thought." Rodney swallows, but he holds John's gaze.

John looks away.

He feels Rodney go tense against him. "Look, forget I asked. It didn't mean anything, right? I'm too analytical. I've been told that before. I was sure the peo- person who said that was wrong, and in most situations I still don't agree that you can ever be too analytical, but maybe in this particular situation, when it's in the context of, well-"

"Rodney," John says quietly, and Rodney breaks off, just like that. John closes his eyes. "I don't know," he says in a low voice. "I don't know what I was going to say."

"Yeah, I get that. Uh, sorry," Rodney says uncomfortably.

John grabs his wrist, but only so that he can slide his hand down into Rodney's and hold it tight. "Look, Rodney. I don't know what I want to say, exactly. But it doesn't mean I don't… you know… feel things," he says gruffly.

Rodney doesn't say anything then. He just looks at John, like he doesn't have any idea what's supposed to come next. There's a long, nerve-racking pause.

"Well," Rodney says at last, "that actually went a lot better than I was expecting." He squeezes John's hand and leans into John, his forehead resting on John's shoulder. John feels Rodney's breath huff against his upper arm in a long sigh. He lets go of Rodney's hand and drapes his arms awkwardly around Rodney's shoulders. Then he pats him gently on the back a few times, because it seems the thing to do.

John hears the bathroom door open and then the creak of a floorboard as Carter moves across the landing to the spare room.

"Come on," he says. "She'll be downstairs again in a minute. We'd better get a move on with dinner."

"What do you want to tell her?" Rodney says, lifting his head.

"About what?"

"About this. You and me." Rodney holds out his arms in a gesture that's clearly meant to encompass them both.

"Do we have to tell her anything?"

"She's going to find out sooner or later."

"Why don't we deal with that when we have to?" John suggests.

"I guess that's what we'll do," Rodney says. He rests his head briefly on John's shoulder again. As he lifts his head he casts a sidelong glance at the arm snaked around his shoulders and smiles slightly. "I really should have known better than to do that."

John shifts against the doorframe. "Rodney. Like I told you, I just don't-"

"No, not that. I've moved on from that," Rodney says, shaking his head dismissively. "For now, anyway."

"Then what?" John says. If Rodney wasn't in the way, he would have folded his arms. Since Rodney is in the way, he leaves his hands resting against Rodney's back. Then he thinks better of that and lets his hands slide down to rest at Rodney's waist.

Rodney quirks a knowing smile. "You never know where to put your hands when you're holding someone."

"That's not true," John says, straightening, and bringing his hands up to rest on Rodney's shoulders. He makes a point of gripping firmly. Assuredly, even.

"It is true. And it's not just me, either. I've seen the same thing happen with Teyla." Rodney looks a little wistful for a second. John doesn't have to ask why. "It happens every time, unless…" Rodney pauses dramatically. A little overly dramatically in John's opinion.

"Unless?" he prompts, really wanting to get this over with but knowing Rodney won't leave the subject alone if he tries to bypass the rest of the conversation.

"Unless you're also kissing," Rodney says, and leans forward to demonstrate his point.

This kiss is less intense than the last, starting out soft and teasing. John doesn't kiss back, just stands there, not actively resisting but just letting it happen to him without responding – and without moving his hands even a millimetre in any direction – so after a little bit Rodney changes tactics. His tongue flickers against John's lips once, twice, coaxing John's mouth open and yeah, he knows just how to undermine John's defences until they're ready to crumble. John surrenders without all that much regret and starts kissing back. He keeps an ear out for any more signs of life from upstairs, but there's nothing, so he closes his eyes and lets the kiss take over. It's scary how easy it is.

"See what I mean?" Rodney murmurs against John's lips a little while later. John blinks. His hands have somehow headed south of their own volition and have ended up cupping Rodney's ass. Again.

"That doesn't prove anything," John disagrees.

"Do you remember moving your hands?"

"Of course," John says, and Rodney snorts in disbelief. They both know he's lying through his teeth.

"So, should I ask whether either of you has come to a decision yet?" Carter calls out. She starts talking a couple of seconds before she reaches the kitchen. It's not quite enough time for them to scramble far enough apart to be able to try for plausible deniability. Or any sort of deniability, really. They're still frozen in place when Carter stops just short of the doorway, her eyes wide. "Or maybe I should just go back into the living room and try coming in again?" she says after a dramatic pause that would do Rodney's theatrical instincts proud.

They belatedly scramble apart.

"No, it's fine. Everything's fine," Rodney says hurriedly.

"I thought you were still upstairs," John says stupidly, staring fixedly at the floor and feeling the colour rush into his face.

"Yes, I can see that," Carter says.

John lifts his head, and tries to pull himself together. A guest. She's a guest. Right. "Can I get you a beer?" he asks her.

"Uh, sure. That'd be great," Carter says.

Rodney's eyes follow him, when they're not darting over at Carter, as John gets three beers from the refrigerator. Carter smiles her thanks as he hands one to her but John doesn't smile back. He's all out of smiles right now. His fingers brush against Rodney's as Rodney takes the second beer from him, and John moves quickly away again.

"You know something?" he says, opening the fridge. "I think those steaks will taste better if I cook them outside."

"In this weather?" Rodney says incredulously. Outside, the wind obligingly lends support to his objection with an extra strong blast through the row of trees along the side of the house.

"Sounds good to me. Do you need some help?" Carter asks.

"No, I'm fine," John says. He retrieves the spiked meat tray from the pile of clean things by the sink, grabs three of the steaks he bought that afternoon out of the fridge, and he's out of there.

The wind is cool and fresh against his cheeks when he steps out the back door. It's a welcome change, but he's forced to squint against the driving rain. It's gotten heavier again, and the only good thing about it is that it's coming from the northwest. John hurries down the garden path and winds up sprinting across the backyard to the shed. Its large sliding metal door faces east, more or less, and when John drags it open the interior remains untouched by the rain. Perfect.

He switches on the light and sets down the tray of meat on the workbench closest to the door. Then he wheels the gas barbecue out into the middle of the floor. It's sheltered enough from the wind in here that using the barbecue shouldn't be a problem, barring a build-up of smoke. Right now, John's more than willing to take a little smoke in exchange for not having to talk to anybody for a while.

He sits down on a stool by the long work bench that runs the length of the shed's back wall. The steaks aren't going to take long to cook so they can wait a few minutes before he fires up the barbecue. John leans back against the workbench, looks out at the rain as the evening starts to close in, and doesn't think about anything at all.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes have passed when Carter appears in the doorway. She's wearing Rodney's windbreaker, and she's carrying a couple of plastic containers and one or two other items. He's not really all that surprised to see her.

"Rodney thought you might need these," she says, and sets the things she's holding down on the bench beside the meat. John comes over to get a better look. There's a container of sliced onions, and another of large mushrooms with just the stalks removed. And his barbecue fork and tongs. Carter pulls out a spray can of oil from under her jacket and places it alongside the rest.

"That's all?" John asks, sort of surprised.

"He wanted to send out more – quite a lot more, actually – but I managed to talk him out of it," Carter says, clearly understating things quite a lot. "He said something about you not having to bother with potatoes?" She looks slightly puzzled.

John snorts. "I'll just bet he did."

"Oh, and there was this." She pulls a beer out from under her jacket. "You forgot your beer. Rodney said you'd better have it for the marinade, but maybe you'd just better have it," she suggests.

"Thanks," John says, taking it from her. He cracks it open and takes a sip, and then looks over the rim of the bottle at her. It's a serious look.

Carter looks back, trying for a smile that ends up as a grimace instead. "Look, this is sort of awkward," she says, awkwardly. "What I saw in there, it isn't any of my business so-"

"You're right, it's not," John cuts in sharply.

Carter looks irritated – but maybe more with herself than with him – and huffs her breath in a way that's almost a sigh.

"Sorry," John says, grimacing in turn. "I didn't really mean it to come out quite like that." He winces when he realises how _that_ sounds.

"No, it's okay. Really. Like I said, it's none of my business so I'm not going to talk about it."

"Okay," John says, and waits for whatever's coming next that's definitely not going to be about what Carter just witnessed in the kitchen.

"I wanted to show you something, actually. Something I've hardly shown to anyone," Carter says, undoing a couple of buttons on her shirt and slipping her hand under.

John tenses, _really_ wondering what's coming next, but then her hand emerges holding the delicate gold chain that's been hidden beneath her collar. There's something hanging from it. Carter holds it out for him to see: it's a plain gold ring. A wedding ring.

John looks from it back to Carter's face and raises his eyebrows questioningly.

"It's mine, and it means exactly what you think it means," she says.

"I'm privileged," John says, and means it. "Someone's a very lucky guy."

"Thank you," Carter says, smiling a private sort of smile at the ring in her hand. "I think I'm pretty lucky, too."

"Have you shown that ring to Rodney?" John asks, although he's pretty sure he already knows the answer to that.

"No," Carter says.

"He'll be happy for you, you know. Once he gets used to the idea, anyway."

"I can just imagine," Carter says with a sigh, but the smile still lurks around the corners of her mouth. "But that's sort of the point I was trying to make by showing you this. Lots of people will be happy for me. Well, for both of us." She smiles properly then, her cheeks tinging with pink. "It's not that we don't want people to know. Eventually. We just don't want to share it quite yet. This was a long time coming. A _really_ long time coming. We want us to belong to, well, us for a while."

John nods. "I think I can understand that," he says.

"It can't go on like this for ever, of course. Probably not even for very long at all. We're going to have to have to go public soon."

"Maybe," John says noncommittally.

"It doesn't mean that other people can ever really know any of the important stuff, though," Carter adds, making a point of catching his gaze and holding it. "Even if they see us… together."

John scratches his chin. And rubs the side of his nose. And rakes his fingers through his hair. "I'd better get this thing up and running if we're ever going to eat tonight," he says at last, picking up the oil and the container of onions.

"I'll leave you to it," Carter says.

"You might just want to… you know, before you go back inside," John says, letting his eyes stray very slightly downwards and then quickly away.

"What?" Carter looks down too. "Oh! Sorry about that," she says, tucking the ring and its chain back out of sight and doing up her shirt buttons. She looks up. "I'll see you back inside in a bit, then?" she asks.

"Sure," John agrees.

She nods once, and then she disappears out into the rainy night.

***

Dinner turns out to be okay, or at least bearable. Rodney casts John a couple of uncertain glances when he comes back inside, but apparently something in the way John looks, or sounds or _is_ reassures him, and before long Rodney's acting pretty much like normal again. He complains about John's liking for rare steak "Lightly killed and still dripping blood!" and tries to send him back out to the shed to make sure Rodney's own steak is properly cooked. "You're welcome to your bout of salmonella but I have no desire to share it with you."

John tells him to put his steak in the microwave until "just before it explodes". Rodney's still spluttering objections when John pops the steak under the kitchen grill for an extra couple of minutes.

Carter sets the table – or she would have, if the table were available. What she actually does is set the cutlery out nicely on the plastic trays they're going to eat off. She even includes neatly folded paper napkins that she found in the bottom of some cupboard somewhere, and puts together the ketchup, mustard and salt and pepper on a little tray of their own. A condiment set. John always knew she had class.

After dinner, Rodney makes coffee and this time they all manage to finish it without interruption. Once they've cleaned up – just the dinner things, not anything else, with John giving Rodney a Look every time he tries to slip some of the contents of the kitchen table into the washing up – it's still reasonably early.

Carter excuses herself, saying that she's going to free them from the task of entertaining an unexpected guest by going upstairs to do some reading. She wishes them both a good night, and adds that she'll see them in the morning. She puts the slightest emphasis on that last bit, a reminder of just why she came here in the first place. And then they're alone.

It's their cue to sit down and talk – so, of course, they don't. Rodney mutters something unintelligible and disappears downstairs. John doesn't follow. The basement is Rodney's private space, just like the shed is John's. Neither of them intrudes on those places, unless it's some sort of crisis or emergency. If he really wanted to, John could probably make a case for today being one long crisis situation starting at the moment he came home to find Carter on their doorstep. He could, but it's easier to flop down in his favourite chair and switch on the TV.

He flips channels aimlessly for a while, but there's nothing much on. ESPN is showing a replay of this afternoon's Cardinal game. John already knows the result, and it's really not something he wants to live through a second time. He turns off the TV and looks around for something else to do. His fifteen pound dumbbells are sitting in the corner, the lone survivors – along with the bantos rods – of Rodney's exercise equipment purge after John's enthusiastic lunge with a thirty-five pounder accidentally took out the orange pendant light that had been hanging in the living room when they first came to live here. Rodney had agreed that it was a definite improvement to get rid of something that looked like it had started life in an airport lounge circa 1975, but it didn't stop him banishing all of John's other weights to the shed.

John pushes the coffee table out of the way, and uses the dumbbells in some warm-up exercises. He's just getting ready to lose the weights and start on a proper work-out – maybe a couple dozen burpees just to get things moving – when Rodney's voice says from behind him: "So, are you okay?"

It's just as well that they put in an oyster light to replace the other one, because otherwise they'd probably be standing in another sea of shattered glass right now. John lowers the dumbbells to his sides, and turns around to find Rodney standing in the doorway, well out of range.

"I'm fine," John says, and leans down to stow the weights back in the corner.

"Okay, okay. So I should have known better than to ask you a question like that if I wanted a more… well, shall we say 'detailed' answer," Rodney says, rolling his eyes.

"I think it was the way you led up to it so smoothly," John says, not trying to deny the charge, as he returns to his chair.

Rodney ignores that. He comes properly into the room and sits down opposite John. "What I should have asked, of course, was 'Do you have a problem with the fact that our former boss walked in on us earlier, and now she knows, and, furthermore, are you going to have a problem with people knowing that we're living together when we go back to Atlantis?' Assuming, of course, that we do live together when we go back." Rodney's face and voice are both deadly serious. John's only ever seen him like this before when there's almost no hope left, or when they're in a situation where someone's going to have to take a truly drastic decision. If Rodney's treating it like that, he deserves a proper answer. Problem is, John's not sure that he knows how to provide one.

"I don't have a problem," John says. "I'm…" He pauses as Rodney fixes him with, well, it's not quite a hard stare, but it's definitely a stare. "Okay, _fine_. I'm _fine_ with Colonel Carter knowing, I'm fine with anybody knowing."

"Really?" Rodney says. "You're fine with everything that's happened here today?"

"Maybe I'm not quite as fine about people seeing," John admits. "But that's just because it's… private." He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, and tries to think of what else to say. He can never find the right words in a conversation like this – he goes out of his way to avoid ever having conversations like this – so he decides to try Carter's words instead. "That belongs to us, _we_ belong to us," he says.

It's not what Rodney was expecting him to say. He can tell that, because Rodney's not saying anything in reply. He opens his mouth, eyes John from under furrowed brows, and then closes it again.

"That's… good," Rodney says at last, cautiously. "And you still want to live together? On Atlantis?"

"Of course," John says. "Unless maybe you…?" He holds out his hands in a sort of wordless question.

"Oh, yes. I do," Rodney says quickly.

"Good," John says in turn. "So: anything else?"

"I think that pretty much covers it," Rodney says, looking like the weight of the universe – or at least two galaxies – has been lifted from his shoulders. He gets up. "Are you coming to bed soon?"

"Sounds like a great idea," John says, letting his breath out on a long sigh. He feels like he's just dodged a bullet, but he hasn't made it to cover yet. There's something else that needs to be mentioned before they leave this conversation behind them for good. He should say it, and say it now. Get it out of the way.

"I'll be up in a minute," he says, and Rodney smiles.

It can wait.

***

When John comes upstairs a little later, he finds a trail of clothing leading from the bedroom door to the en suite bathroom. The rush of the water from the shower can be heard coming from the other side of the bathroom door, accompanied by snatches of _Nessun Dorma_ being sung in Rodney's surprisingly on key tenor and uncertain Italian.

It seems just like any other night in this house. Right now, it's hard to believe that it's probably the last one they'll spend here.

The singing stops, and a moment later so does the water. Rodney emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, scrubbing his wet hair vigorously with a towel.

"Did you leave any hot water for me?" John asks, but he's already stripping off. His clothes go straight into the hamper by the bathroom door.

He turns on the extractor fan to get rid of the last of Rodney's makeshift steam bath. The bathroom mirror is all fogged up. John can barely see his reflection at all.

The spray from the shower beats down on his shoulders, forcing tense muscles to relax and washing away the visible remains of the day that's almost over. After he turns off the water he stands there, dripping, for a moment or two. When he gets out of the shower he still can't quite see himself in the mirror.

When John comes back into the bedroom, Rodney's sitting up in bed, naked, and tapping at the screen of his iPad. John gets into bed and grabs his book from the nightstand. He found an ancient hardback copy of _Reach for the Sky_ at the local second hand bookstore, so he's re-reading that for the first time in years. He's about halfway through it: Douglas Bader's just been medically retired from the RAF, after unsuccessfully attempting to keep serving despite overcoming the effects of his injuries, and now he's trying to come to terms with a future in the wilderness of civilian life. John's been stuck on this part for a while, despite knowing how things eventually turn out for Bader. Maybe because of that.

He puts the book back down on the nightstand and lies down properly.

"Had enough?" Rodney asks, looking up.

"Yeah," John says.

Rodney puts away the ipad and wriggles down between the sheets. Then he reaches up to switch off the light.

They turn to each other in the darkness with the ease and surety that comes from practice. Lots of practice. Rodney slips one arm up above their heads and lays it against the headboard, and John pushes closer until his head is lying on Rodney's pillow. Their lips find each other and then they're kissing, just kissing. They've got all night if they want it. John's left arm comes up around Rodney's back, his hand stroking in slow circles, just enjoying the warmth of Rodney's skin under his fingers. Just like every other time he's done this, a tiny thrill goes through him as he reaches down between them with his other hand and finds Rodney's dick. His arm is exactly the right length. Perfect, like it was designed with this in mind.

It's nice, lying here riding the slow burn of arousal, trading kisses while Rodney's cock gradually comes to life in his hand.

"I'm never going to need Viagra while you're around," Rodney says against his lips, and then he reaches down to return the favour.

Things get a bit more heated after that. John's never going to have to worry about Viagra either.

John ends up flat on his back, with Rodney on hands and knees beside him, pressing a line of hard kisses along his sternum. John reaches for Rodney in turn and Rodney stops, and then stops him, grabbing John's hands and holding them fast.

"Let me-" John begins.

"No, let me," Rodney says. "Let me give you what you want. Please."

It's the 'please' that does it. John goes completely still. And then he says, "Yeah, okay." Rodney lets go of John's hands and John lets his arms flop back against the mattress. He waits.

He doesn't have to wait long. Rodney starts with mouth at John's chest, right where he left off before. He stops off at a nipple, laving it until it's a hard little pebble beneath his tongue. He lavishes similar attention on the other nipple until John's fingers are digging into the sheet and he's clamping his lips shut in an effort not to tell Rodney to just get on with it already – he knows from experience that that's a really bad idea – or at least just to stop himself from making any noises that might give their guest at the other end of the upstairs hallway an accurate idea of what's going on in here.

Rodney moves on, finally. John lets out a long sigh as Rodney starts mapping a path with lips and tongue and hands along John's body to his dick. He takes the long way. The really, _really_ long way, carefully exploring every side track and detour imaginable, coaxing John to respond little by little, slowly stoking the fire until it flares up into unbearable heat and want, and John's spread out against the sheets, moving restlessly from side to side and finally trying to drag Rodney the rest of the way, to get him where he wants him, now, before he dies of wanting, or possibly of old age.

And then Rodney’s there at last, licking up the side of John’s dick, stopping at the head to run his tongue across the slit, and John’s shaking at the intensity of it, pushing Rodney away again, the only way to stop himself from coming right this instant.

"I want you now," he says, the demand turning into a plea as his voice cracks halfway through.

"You've got me," Rodney assures him in a harsh whisper, and John feels Rodney's fingers against his thigh, stroking down and gently pushing John's legs further apart, then moving up again, fingertips even gentler against John's balls, sliding back, sliding further, sliding-

"Where's the lube?" Rodney asks in his normal voice, his hands going still.

"What?" John says, lifting his head to look in Rodney's direction even though Rodney's only a dim shape in the darkness. Realisation hits him a split second later, and he lets his head fall back against the pillow. "It's still downstairs. In the shopping bag from this afternoon."

"Damn," Rodney says. And then, "I'm not going down for it. Not like this," he adds emphatically. The additional rider 'Not while Sam Carter's in the house' goes unspoken but is a hundred per cent understood.

John can totally see Rodney's point. But, on the other hand, he's already settled for a hand job once today, and this may be their last night in this house, in this nice big bed, for quite a while.

"What happened to the emergency stuff?" he asks. "We had it the other day, after the other bottle of lube ran out."

"The salad oil? I don't rem- Oh. OH!"

"Does that mean you remembered where it is?"

"I think… I could be wrong… But probably not. Remember how we started off in the main bathroom the other day?"

John closes his eyes in comprehension. "And then you complained about how hard the sides of the bath were on your back when there was so little water in it, so we moved in here."

There's a silence.

"Do you think she noticed it?" Rodney asks.

John shrugs in the darkness. Carter was a member of the SGC's elite team for a decade and also one of the greatest scientific minds of her generation. Being observant is one of her defining characteristics. "Maybe not," he says.

There's another silence. John feels the mattress shift beneath him as Rodney moves back to his own side of the bed.

"So," Rodney says.

"I'll go," John says with a sigh, and fumbles around until he finds the light switch.

He blinks as light floods the room. Rodney's leaning back against the headboard, looking disconsolate. Well, except for one part of him. That's sticking up, looking stiff and red and very, very lonely.

John takes his bathrobe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and shrugs it on. It doesn't really work. Tying the belt only makes the tenting at the front that much more obvious. He wills his erection to go down, but as usual it has its own ideas. Muttering curses, John grabs a towel and holds it strategically against his thigh, hoping that he's presenting the picture of a man who's just gotten out of the shower a minute ago and is still kind of absently holding on to his towel even though he's in his robe now.

"Very fetching," Rodney observes.

"Oh, shut up," John tells him, and cautiously peeks out the door into the hallway.

The spare room door is shut, but there's light coming out underneath. Carter must be reading, just like she said. John creeps along the hallway to the bathroom. He spots the bottle of salad oil almost immediately, sitting on the floor by the side of the bath. There's no way Carter could have missed seeing it. She would have almost had to have stepped right over it when she got into the shower. John's half-relieved that at least she didn't try to take it down to the kitchen and give it back to them, until he gets to the second half of that thought, and realises that she obviously decided that the place she found the bottle was exactly where its owners intended it to be. John really just wants to bolt for cover right now, and stay there for the foreseeable future.

He grabs the bottle and sneaks back along the hallway. Just as he's almost gained the safety of the bedroom, the door to the spare room opens. Of course it does. John draws in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, double-checks that the towel is still obscuring what it needs to obscure – and that now includes the bottle of salad oil –  
and turns around.

Carter's walking along the hallway toward him, wearing sweat pants and a loose t-shirt. She smiles a greeting. John raises a hand and waves awkwardly back. Then she disappears into the bathroom.

John dashes the last couple of steps back to the bedroom and nearly runs straight into Rodney when he pushes open the door. Rodney leaps out of the way just in time.

"Careful!" Rodney says, as if it's all John's fault.

"Sorry, I didn't see you. There was a door in the way," John points out. He can feel his nerves starting to fray just the tiniest bit.

"Did you find it?"

John holds up the bottle of oil. "Colonel Carter saw me in the hallway just before I came back in here. I had the towel draped over the bottle, though."

"Thank goodness for that much," Rodney says.

"Oh, I don't think I'd say that, exactly," John says. "She just went into the bathroom, so now she'll notice it's gone." He's really beginning to wish that he'd just gone the rest of the way downstairs and gotten the brand new bottle of lube that's still just sitting there, waiting to be used.

"You know, I really don't think I'm in the mood any more," Rodney says, looking kind of pained at the thought.

John feels sort of indignant about that after the mortifying little trip to the bathroom he's just endured in the name of lubricant, but "Yeah, me too," is his gloomy reply. If he went back out into the hallway right now he wouldn't even need to take his towel with him.

They get back into bed. John turns off the light. They lie there for a few minutes. John's staring up at nothing, and Rodney's breathing is so shallow that John's betting he's equally wide awake.

"So, what did you do with the oil, after all that?" Rodney says at last.

"It's on the nightstand," John replies.

"Seems a shame not to use it, after going to all that trouble to get it."

"Yeah," John agrees.

They meet in the middle of the bed, again. John can feel the first spark of rekindled arousal arrive with the rasp of Rodney's unshaven cheek against his, feels it build in the tingling of his lips after the first long kiss. His hand slips down between them to find Rodney's cock, and Rodney gasps in his ear and pushes closer against him – and that's the moment the spark turns into a bolt of lightning that arcs right through him.

It's still sort of shocking to John, just how easy it is, every time. All it takes is Rodney's touch, Rodney wanting him, and he's lost, aching hard in no time at all and impatient to the point of desperation for the rest. He can't remember it ever being like this with anybody else.

Just as well he seems to have exactly the same effect on Rodney.

He rolls Rodney onto his back before Rodney realises exactly what's happening, and scoots down so he can lay his head against Rodney's belly and nuzzle warm, hairy skin.

"I thought this was going to be about you letting me give you what you want," Rodney says breathily.

"It still can be," John says, as he lifts himself up slightly and braces one arm against the bed. "Eventually," he adds and bends his head back down. His tongue finds Rodney's belly button, and Rodney lets out an undignified squeak. But he doesn't tell John to stop. John grins, and swirls the tip of his tongue around the edge one last time before following the trail of hair south, pausing along the way to drop kisses and a few gentle nips on warm skin, and listening for the little broken sounds coming from above. Rodney likes the nips best, though he'd deny it out of bed. But here there's no mistake: each delicate scrape of teeth against his skin makes Rodney tense or groan or gasp, or best of all - when John rubs the edge of his teeth along the smooth hollow of Rodney's hip – sends a shudder right through him.

John reaches Rodney's dick at last. It seems to have recovered pretty well from its earlier disappointment. John breathes in the familiar scent, stronger here than just about anywhere else. It makes his breath catch. He licks up the side of Rodney's cock, takes the head in his mouth and swipes along the slit a couple of times, delaying his next move because he can't resist wringing just one more reluctant sound out of Rodney, one more muttered plea.

Then he takes his mouth away, and sits up.

"Are you really sure you want this to be about me?" he asks. "I can keep giving you what you want, instead," he adds, running a finger up the side of Rodney's cock. Rodney draws in a sharp breath, and John's sure he's going to tell John to keep doing what he was just doing.

But instead there's a rustle of sheets. The mattress dips and John feels Rodney's arm brush against his just before Rodney's hand touches his shoulder and there's warm breath against his ear.

"It's always about you, you idiot. That's what I want," Rodney says, and stops his mouth with a kiss.

They topple sideways together, hitting the pillows with a thump that ends the kiss. In another moment, John's on his back, Rodney's trailing kisses down his body, and they're finally back to where they were before. Rodney chooses not to take the scenic route this time, thank Christ, and before long John is arching up into Rodney's hands, into his mouth, ready, more than ready, for where this is going, jamming the back of his hand hard against his mouth to stop the noises he wants to make at the first touch of Rodney's fingers, cool and slick with oil.

Rodney takes his time on this, careful and slow. Too careful and way, way too slow.

"That's enough," John says. "Now."

For once Rodney doesn't argue the point. He moves, and then he's there, pushing John's legs further apart, pushing against John, pushing right in, _still_ slow and careful until John rocks up against him, takes Rodney's face between his hands. "Give me what I want," he says hoarsely, and pulls him down into a kiss. Rodney groans against John's mouth, rocks hard into him and John's meeting him thrust for thrust. And then there's nothing slow about it any more.

The orgasm takes him by surprise, a sudden peak when a moment before he was only halfway there. He cries out at the force of it, too late to stop himself, and then Rodney's following him, gasping against John's neck, hands clutching warm, sweat-slick skin as they ride out the aftershocks together.

They lie there for a while, putting off moving apart until at last they don't have a choice. Rodney gets up, grabs a damp hand towel from the bathroom, cleans them both up. He's not a big fan of vital bodily fluids except "in the appropriate places" as he's told John repeatedly. The sheets really need changing, too, but they can wait. Everything here is on hold now. It's already feeling slightly unreal, all of it.

Rodney settles back into bed, pulls the covers up over both of them and wriggles closer until his head is on John's pillow.

"Night," he says, and his hand moves up briefly to touch John's cheek.

"G'night," John replies, and brushes a kiss across Rodney's temple.

And then Rodney turns over, leaving John to spoon up behind him, or not.

John doesn't. He lies on his back for a while, and then tries rolling onto his side. Beside him, Rodney's breathing slow and deep, snuffling a little now in a way that will absolutely turn into a snore before much longer, despite all the denials he makes when he's awake.

One time in every five or so, sex leaves John wide awake and energised. Of course tonight has to be one of those nights. He's still debating whether to keep lying here waiting for sleep to arrive or to just give in and get up for a while, when Rodney finally starts to snore in earnest.

John gets up, hauls today's clothes out of the hamper, gets dressed and goes downstairs, taking care to close the door quietly behind him.

There's a light on in the living room. What with the talent Carter's been displaying all day for showing up when she's least expected, John's not entirely surprised to see that she's down here now. He's mainly just grateful that she hasn't gone anywhere near the master bedroom – so far as he knows.

He stops off in the kitchen to get a glass of water, and then pokes his head around the living room door.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

Carter looks up swiftly from the book in her lap. "Oh! Oh, yes. Everything's fine," she says. "I was just having a little trouble getting to sleep – my body clock's still on ship's time – so I thought I'd come down here to read for a while."

The book is big and heavy-looking – probably in content as well as sheer physical weight, since it looks like one of Rodney's from the shelf in the spare room. John notices an unfamiliar phone sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

"Did you want to make a call? he asks, indicating the phone with a slight nod.

"No," Carter replies, and grins a bit wryly. "He's not in the sort of place that can be contacted by phone."

"Right," John says. He hesitates in the doorway, undecided whether to stay or go.

"John," Carter says. "I was wondering… I don't mean to keep harping on about this…" She smiles a self-deprecating little smile. "Okay, maybe I do. But I do need to ask: have you made a decision about the question I asked both of you this afternoon."

John hesitates a split second longer, but the decision to go or stay has been pretty much taken out of his hands. There isn't really anything else he can do apart from come into the room and sit down, so he does. He looks across at Carter, who's waiting expectantly for some sort of answer.

"Yeah," he says. "We decided."

"You decided… what?" Carter asks, and nods for him to go on.

"We're going back," John says.

"I'm glad to hear it," Carter says.

"Was there really ever any doubt?"

"Yes, there was, honestly," Carter says. "I wouldn't have blamed you – either of you – if you'd decided against going back.

"Maybe you don't know either of us as well as you thought, then," John says.

"Oh, I think that's already pretty clear," Carter says lightly.

John looks down at his hands, remembers the glass of water, and gratefully gulps some down.

"Are you planning to share quarters when you go back?" Carter asks, her voice turning serious again.

"Why do you want to know?" John replies, leaning back in his chair but not relaxing at all.

"If you are, I wouldn't mention it. Not until you've gone back. The regs may have changed, but certain topics aren't all that welcome in certain places right at the moment."

John nods. "Understood," he says. "And… thanks for the warning."

Carter seems to hesitate before she speaks again, but when she does she looks him straight in the eye. "I don't need to tell you that if the two of you do live together on Atlantis Rodney can't be a member of your team any more, do I?" It's not really a question at all.

"No, you don't," John says.

"Do I need to tell Rodney?"

There's a pause.

"No," John says, trying, and probably failing, not to sound annoyed.

"So he's okay with that?" Carter presses.

"He will be," John says firmly. She and Rodney really are sort of friends deep down, despite their sometimes prickly relationship. That must be why she's doing this. He bites his lip and keeps telling himself that.

Carter just looks at him for a moment, in that unnerving way she sometimes has. And then she says, as if changing the subject: "It's been an interesting experience, having command of my own ship."

"I'm sure it has," John says warily.

"Apart from everything else, I still get to liaise with a lot of the people I've worked with before, including some of my former team mates from time to time – frequently, even – but as the commander of the _General Hammond_ I report directly to General Vidrine at the Pentagon."

"That is interesting," John agrees, wondering if she really is saying what he thinks she's saying.

"It's something to keep in mind," Carter says.

"Yes," John says. "Just so we're clear, with regard to your… news, we're not talking about Cam Mitchell here, are we?"

"Cam? Oh, no." Carter blinks once in surprise. "No, it's not Cam. And never would have been," she adds.

"Just checking, since this conversation seems to be about team relationships, one way or another."

"Yes, I think it's fair to say it touches on that," Carter says. "On relationships between team leaders and other team members. After the team has split up, of course."

John nods. So that's it. She really wasn't kidding before when she said this had been a long time coming. "Yeah, I get it," he says, and meets her gaze in something approaching mutual understanding.

Carter puts the book to one side and gets up. "You know, I think I'll go back up and take another shot at getting some sleep."

"Good idea," John says, and gets up as well. He knows what he has to do, and he needs to do it before he has any real hope of getting much sleep tonight. Depending on how it turns out, of course. On how Rodney takes it.

They say good night at the top of the stairs. John waits until the spare room door closes behind Carter before going back to his own room. He opens the door to almost complete quiet. Rodney's stopped snoring and the only things John can hear are Rodney's deep, regular breathing and the distant sound of the rain outside.

John sits down on his side of the bed. He half-wonders if maybe Rodney's awake, but the steady rhythm of Rodney's breathing doesn't change. John reaches over and shakes him gently by the shoulder. When that doesn't have any noticeable effect, he shakes Rodney again, a firmer shake this time, and then turns on the light. That does the trick.

"Wha'?" Rodney says, squinting up at John. He rolls away from the light. "Turn off the light," he adds, his voice muffled by the comforter, which he's currently pulling over his head.

"We've gotta talk," John says.

"Right now?" Rodney asks. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"No, it can't," John says and hauls the comforter off again so he can see Rodney while he's talking to him.

"Ow. Don't do that!" Rodney says, blinking like an owl in the daytime, and grabbing the nearest side of the comforter and trying to disappear under it again. John pulls back and they engage in a brief tug-of-war, which John wins.

Rodney glares at him resentfully for a moment, and then he heaves a long-suffering sort of sigh and hauls himself up so that he's sitting back against the headboard. "Okay, let's get it over with, since apparently that's the only way I'm going to be allowed to get back to sleep anytime soon. What?"

John sits down on his side of the bed. "When we go back to Atlantis," he begins.

"Yes," Rodney says, and waggling his fingers in an impatient upward motion that makes it clear that John should go faster.

"And we live together on Atlantis," John continues.

"Yes." Rodney waggles his fingers some more.

"We can't be on the same team any more," John finishes in rush.

"Yes." Rodney holds out one hand, open like a question. When John doesn't say anything else, Rodney folds his arms. "So that's what this is all about?" he enquires, sounding conversational now, like they're discussing what they're going to do tomorrow – which, in a way, they are.

"Yes," John says in turn.

"Did you really think that wouldn't have occurred to me?" Rodney asks.

"Well. No?" John tries. He feels like he's somehow lost control of this conversation and it's barely started. It's not going anything like the way he thought it would.

"You know how long I've been working for the air force in one capacity or another? Fifteen years, give or take."

John considers that for a second, leaning back against the headboard beside Rodney. "So you know how it works. Okay, I get that. What I don't get is why you didn't say anything about this until now."

"Because I thought _you_ didn't want to talk about it just yet," Rodney says in exasperation. "Forgive me for attempting to be sensitive and considerate."

"Well, I do," John says. "Want to talk about it, I mean."

They stare at each other.

"What do you want to say?" Rodney asks after a long moment of silence.

"I've just said it," John replies.

"And… that's it?"

John shrugs. "Well, what are we going to do about it?"

Rodney thinks about that for a moment, and then asks, "Is that some sort of trick question?"

"What?" John says. And then: "No."

"Okay then," Rodney says. "I suggest we go to Atlantis, live together, _not_ be on the same team and… find ways to work around that."

John snorts a quiet laugh. "Funny, that's pretty much just what Colonel Carter said."

"You've been talking to Sam about this?" Rodney frowns.

"Not really. She's been talking to me, mostly," John says. "Well, I did tell her we'd decided to go back," he admits.

"You told her that we'd decided to go back," Rodney repeats. "What happened to 'we'll take as much time as we can'?"

"It just sorta came up," John explains.

"It came up," Rodney says, nodding. And then he shakes his head. "How exactly did it do that?"

"She asked me."

"She asked… Since when do you answer questions just because someone asks?" Rodney says indignantly.

"Does it really make that much difference? We would have told her first thing in the morning anyway," John points out.

"True," Rodney allows.

They go quiet again. The rain's still falling outside. John will have to look into getting the roof guttering fixed on this side of the house. Or he would have, if they were still going to be here. Weirdly, now that it's almost over with, he discovers that he's going to miss all the little challenges that come with the territory of running this sort of home, even though he's more than ready to return to the real challenges of… well, he wants to say that Atlantis is his real home, but that's not quite it. Not any more.

He looks up, and finds that Rodney's looking back at him.

"So is that everything for now?" Rodney asks.

"Yeah, I really think it is," John says, and smiles fondly across at Rodney. More than fondly.

"Good," Rodney says, and reaches up to cup the side of John's face in his hand. "Fifty-one per cent of everything, remember?"

John turns his head slightly, just enough so that he can press a kiss into Rodney's palm. It's an echo from before, and perhaps also a sort of answer.

Rodney finally returns John's smile. Then he turns his back to John and snuggles down under the covers.

John strips off his clothes for the third and hopefully last time today before sliding under the covers and spooning up behind Rodney. He reaches up to turn off the light and in almost no time at all he drifts off to sleep with his face pressed up against the comforting warmth of Rodney's back.

***

John wakes early, though not quite as early as just about every other day. Washed out grey light peeks in around the edges of the blind. He wakes alone, too, which is definitely not like any other day. He dresses quickly in yesterday's clothes – for the fourth time – and heads quietly downstairs. The smell of cooking and the sound of voices coming from the kitchen hit him at the same time, halfway down the stairs.

"Look, your single PhD in astrophysics doesn't exactly equip you with the necessary skills, now does it?"

"Are you seriously trying to suggest that mechanical engineering gives you an edge when it comes to making pancakes?"

"Well, if you want to put it that way."

"McKay!"

"I'm just saying you've added too much milk. The mixture needs to be more viscous."

"You really want to talk about relative viscosity, when it apparently never occurred to you that the centipoise of that mayonnaise you've got in the fridge is about a hundred times the viscosity of your average salad dressing?"

Out in the hallway, John's whole face goes hot, from the base of his neck and right up to the tips of his ears. He doesn't wait to hear what Rodney says in reply but instead goes straight back upstairs. He was planning to take a shower this morning, anyway. They probably won't kill each other before he gets back.

He shaves first. His reflection looks back at him sharp and clear as he settles into the familiar moves of the morning ritual. He showers quickly, dresses in fresh clothes, and goes back downstairs.

Things are quieter in the kitchen now, but something smells burnt.

John enters the kitchen to find Carter presiding over the stove top, with Rodney perched beside her on one of the kitchen stools with fork in hand. He's eating an extremely blackened pancake from a pile of them on a plate in front of him.

"S'really not that bad," he's saying, in between chews. "If you hadn't dropped that little 'oh, by the way, I'm Colonel Doctor Mrs General now' bombshell of yours right when they needed to be flipped they probably would have been just about perfect," he grumbles.

"In your dreams, McKay," Carter says, flipping the pancake in the pan in front of her with expert precision. "Besides, you already dropped a bombshell of your own."

"Not intentionally," Rodney protests, turning his attention away from his plate and noticing John. "Ah, the dead has arisen, I see," he says. "Come and have some breakfast."

"You want me to eat that?" John says, coming over. He grabs a fork and pokes dubiously at the pile of pancakes. And then, setting down the fork, he puts his hand very deliberately on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney reaches up and gently squeezes John's hand.

"Good morning, John," Carter says, her eyes firmly on the pan. "Have some pancakes," she adds, indicating the stack of fluffy, golden brown pancakes on the plate at her elbow.

"Thanks – and good morning, Colonel. Did you sleep okay?" John asks, grabbing one of the spare stools and looking round for the syrup.

"Fine, thank you," she replies, and pops the latest pancake onto a clean plate before dropping more batter into the pan.

Breakfast proceeds smoothly after that. Once Carter finishes off the remaining batter and winds down her pancake production line, John asks if anybody wants eggs. Carter declines, but Rodney says yes, like he always does, so John takes his turn at the stove while Rodney fires up the coffee machine.

They're sitting around, drinking one last cup of coffee at the end of a long and leisurely breakfast, when John's phone rings. It's Bryce from the sheriff's office. The emergency crew's been working on getting the road open since early this morning and they're ready for the tow truck to come get Carter's car.

John hands over the phone to Carter so she can provide her insurance details and a number for the shop to call once the car's been fixed. The call goes on a little longer after that. John grins as Carter answers most of Bryce's friendly questions with polite nothings before she firmly ends the call.

"Personal service," Carter says as she gives the phone back to John.

"With a smile, even," John says. "Living up here isn't like living in the city."

"Why did you decide to come live up here?" Carter asks curiously. "I've got to say I've been wondering about that."

John shrugs. "Rodney wanted to get away from things for a while. I came with him. There's not much more to it."

"Nononono," Rodney interrupts. He's frowning at John. "That's not how it happened at all. If you recall _you_ were the one who wanted to get right away from everything and everyone after you got out of the hospital. I came with _you_ because god knows what would have happened to you if you'd attempted to manage on your own up here while you were still getting around on crutches."

"No, Rodney. You were the one that wanted to move into this house. You _found_ it, remember?" John remembers that distinctly, Rodney pointing out the listing on the property website.

"Only after you said you wanted to get away from the ocean and then started talking about some boyhood vacation in a log cabin up in the hills in the middle of nowhere."

"That didn't mean I'd choose to live in a place like this for longer than two weeks!"

They stare at each other.

"Why didn't you say something?" Rodney demands.

"Why didn't you?" John shoots back.

"Uh, guys?" Carter breaks in. "Does it really matter now? I mean, you're going to be leaving again… well, almost literally any minute, aren't you?"

"That's true," John admits grudgingly but he mouths 'I can't believe you' at Rodney.

Rodney mouths the words right back at him, and they glare at each other for a moment. But after another moment the corner of John's mouth twitches, and it must be contagious because as soon as he catches Rodney's eye the corner of his mouth twitches, too, and the moment after that they're grinning at each other like idiots.

After a few more moments, Carter clears her throat. "So, if you're both ready, I think it might be time to start putting the wheels in motion."

"Okay," says John, tearing his eyes away from Rodney's. "Okay. Yeah, we can do that."

"If I can borrow your phone again?" Carter says, holding out her hand. She keys in a number, waits a moment to be put through and then: "General Landry. Tell Cam – three to beam up." She puts down the phone and smiles broadly at both of them. "Any minute now," she says.

John takes one last look around the kitchen. Rodney never did get around to doing much of this week's cleaning. Even if they come back here again before they leave Earth, they're going to have to get someone in to clean the place up and clear out most of the stuff they don't take with them.

He goes over to the window and looks out. It's still overcast but it's finally stopped raining and as he watches a break forms in the clouds. It looks like things will start to clear any minute.

Rodney joins him by the window. "You know," Rodney says, "Despite what I just said, I think I'm going to miss this place. Some aspects of it, anyway."

"Me too. But it's not like it's fifty-one per cent of anything in itself, if you know what I mean." Home isn't just a place any more, he doesn't say. But Rodney gets that, John can tell. It's written all over his face, suddenly disarmed and defenceless, showing everything, but also somehow equally disarming, as well. John feels exposed, but for the first time it's okay. Everything's finally okay.

He smiles at Rodney as the beam takes them, and the next chapter starts.


End file.
